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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23456731">Unremarkable</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/suna_scribbles/pseuds/suna_scribbles'>suna_scribbles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crack, Crack Relationships, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, so you get the start of something gay, there is no way i could flesh this relationship out in less than a million words</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:07:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,054</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23456731</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/suna_scribbles/pseuds/suna_scribbles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Same beliefs, same background, same values. Different factions.</p><p>What if a crackship was taken too seriously? Read to find out.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bulkhead/Megatron</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>163</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Unremarkable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>a fic for asinangel on tumblr! this crackship went way too far and im here for the insanity</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Megatron tapped his digits thoughtfully against the console, staring into the dumb blue optics of the green Autobot pictured before him.</p><p>“You are certain of this, Shockwave?” he said slowly.</p><p>“I am, my liege,” Shockwave said, displaying a graph of the Autobot’s test scores. “His understanding of space bridge technology is unmatched.”</p><p>“He worked on an <em>energon farm,</em>” Megatron said, unafraid to hide his doubts.</p><p>“Correct,” Shockwave said. “His aptitude for all skills other than space bridges is subpar at best. But his expertise in space bridge technology is confirmed. His boot camp drill sergeant informed me that his goal was to become a space bridge technician.”</p><p>“An Autobot cadet with no goal of being in the Elite Guard,” Megatron said thoughtfully, a small grin rising on his face. “How peculiar.”</p><p>“He was in my recruitment class, my liege,” Shockwave said. “I can personally vouch for the statement of his sergeant.”</p><p>Megatron grinned, nodding at Shockwave.</p><p>“Thank you very much,” he said. “That will be all for today.”</p><p>“Of course, my liege.”</p>
<hr/><p>Capturing the Autobot was supposed to have been the difficult part. But yet, as Megatron stood and watched the green hulk of a mech argue with the pitiful human, he realized that living with him was sure to be a more herculean task.</p><p>The Autobot—Bulkhead, as Megatron had come to find out—was proving to be a genius that somehow had the processor capacity of a flash drive. Megatron had seen rocks with more common sense, and with far more dignity, for that matter. Bulkhead didn’t carry himself with any of the grandiosity that Lugnut did, nor with the unbridled bloodlust that Blitzwing reeked of. Even the Constructicons seemed to walk about the Decepticon base with their pride intact, doing what they loved for a payment they loved even more.</p><p>Bulkhead simply walked around with… <em>nothing.</em></p><p>It intrigued Megatron, to say the least. The Autobot certainly had the frame type of a mech that would be much haughtier, much more commanding. He was undoubtedly the largest of the Autobots, one of the most well-equipped for battle, and he <em>had</em> put up a fight upon being kidnapped. But despite being in his element, commanding the Constructicons to run this way and that to build his beloved space bridge, he never showed a shred of an overblown ego. </p><p>He simply sat, drew his blueprints with clumsy servos, and informed his underlings of their next step.</p><p>Megatron was more than happy to watch him from a middle distance, unafraid of using his own intimidating aura to keep the Autobot from stepping out of line. Though unimpressive, Megatron was certain that Bulkhead’s stringent loyalty to the other Autobots had not wavered. And that warranted a close and careful watch on Megatron’s part.</p><p>“<em>Stop!</em>” Bulkhead suddenly shouted, interrupting Megatron’s train of thought and startling Professor Sumdac into a halt. “What kind of capacitor is that?”</p><p>Professor Sumdac eyed the large black brick of electrical wiring in his small hands. “Class Y,” he said, frowning at Bulkhead uncertainly. “Why?”</p><p>“Connected to the plasma dynamic thruster?” Bulkhead said incredulously. “We need <em>differential-mode</em> filtering, not common-mode!”</p><p>“The connection is line to ground!” Sumdac argued.</p><p>“No, it’s <em>across</em> the line,” Bulkhead said with a sharp sigh. “Switch that out or the whole space bridge will go up in flames.”</p><p>Sumdac grumbled something unintelligible as he set the component down, and Megatron felt a small smirk creep onto his face. <em>Completely unremarkable, Autobot,</em> he thought as he watched Bulkhead scribble furiously on one of his many blueprints. <em>Yet your space bridge prowess surpasses that of Shockwave’s.</em></p><p>Megatron drummed his digits against a barrel of oil, briefly meeting Bulkhead’s gaze, his smirk growing wider as the Autobot hurriedly looked away.</p><p><em>How did you, of all mechs, hail from an energon farm, I wonder?</em> Megatron thought as he sipped at his finest oil.</p>
<hr/><p>“Take a break, Autobot,” Megatron said, scowling at the simplistic taste of the name on his glossa. “My finest asset cannot be overworking and still be productive, can he?”</p><p>Bulkhead paused his work, shooting a confused glare in Megatron’s direction.</p><p>“I thought you wanted this done as soon as—”</p><p>“<em>Yes,</em> please,” Mixmaster interrupted, dropping a large metal pipe to the ground instantaneously. “We’ve been at this slag all day.”</p><p>“Oil?” Scrapper said, rather predictably.</p><p>Megatron grinned thinly and gestured toward the storage area with a nod. “You know where to find it by now,” he purred.</p><p>The Constructicons wasted no time in emptying their arms and bolting out of the room, murmuring excitedly amongst themselves. Bulkhead watched them go, motionless, a faint and sad glimmer in his optics as he let his blueprints flutter to the ground.</p><p>“You may follow them, you know,” Megatron said, raising a brow.</p><p>Bulkhead shot him an irritated glance. “I know,” he said shortly. “I’m not thirsty.”</p><p>“You must be,” Megatron pressed, leaning back slightly against the wall, swirling his own barrel of oil tantalizingly. “The processor requires just as much fuel as the frame.”</p><p>“I <em>said</em> I’m not thirsty,” Bulkhead repeated. “I want this space bridge done so I can go <em>home.</em>”</p><p>“Of course,” Megatron said, his spark twitching. “You have been working far harder than anticipated. I cannot express my gratitude enough.”</p><p>Bulkhead scoffed, turning away from Megatron and rifling through his blueprints. “Like I have a choice,” he grumbled.</p><p>“I thought you would be pleased with this position amongst my army,” Megatron said, only partially attempting to provoke the Autobot. “A mech of your processing power is meant for far more than repairs. You should be designing, building, <em>engineering.</em>”</p><p>“Don’t try to flatter me into joining up with you,” Bulkhead grumbled. “You <em>kidnapped</em> me.”</p><p>“And yet, you have attempted no drastic measures to escape,” Megatron said, curiosity overcoming his craving to further manipulate Bulkhead’s thoughts. “Tell me, Bulkhead, and answer me honestly—why have you not pursued greater things? Surely the Autobot regime knew of your talents.”</p><p>Bulkhead didn’t answer for a few moments, and Megatron took a small step closer, lifting a second barrel of oil from the ground.</p><p>“Stop trying to do… whatever you’re doing,” Bulkhead muttered.</p><p>“I am simply asking a question and nothing more,” Megatron said sincerely, lowering his voice slightly. “You reported to the Elite Guard that you intended to become a space bridge technician. Why join the military if a scientific position is what you sought?”</p><p>Bulkhead, once again, didn’t answer. Megatron walked closer, tapping the barrel of oil against his shoulder, trying not to stand too tall.</p><p>“Deny it as you wish, but you clearly enjoy what you have been doing here,” Megatron continued. “Drink. I assure you, it is not poisoned.”</p><p>Bulkhead finally looked up, staring suspiciously at Megatron for a few long moments before reaching up and taking the barrel of oil. “We’re ordered to enroll,” he said slowly, staring at the oil without drinking. “Admissions to the Jhiaxian Academy of Advanced Technology have been reserved for specially nominated candidates, or something like that. I’m from an energon farm. Figured boot camp was my best shot toward if I didn’t want to stay there forever.”</p><p>Megatron nodded quietly, trying not to frown. “The Autobots have certainly become well-known for pigeonholing their ranks, haven’t they?” he said.</p><p>Bulkhead scowled once again, lowering his oil. “At least they’re not well-known for blowing up planets and killing a bunch of bots,” he said scathingly.</p><p>Megatron couldn’t help but chuckle. “Right you are, Autobot,” he said earnestly. “But surely you, of all mechs, should be able to recognize the injustice that Autobots impose upon their own. Were I to lead the planet, you would be the first to be admitted to JAAT.”</p><p>Bulkhead scoffed. “If you didn’t <em>kill</em> me first.”</p><p>“The Autobots listen to revolution far more than reason,” Megatron countered smoothly.</p><p>“Still doesn’t justify you <em>killing</em> everyone. Have I mentioned how bad that is?” Bulkhead hissed.</p><p>“Once or twice,” Megatron chuckled. “Disagree with my methods all you like, but I recognize untapped potential when I see it. You are far smarter than your looks would lead one to assume.”</p><p>Bulkhead rolled his optics, abruptly handing the barrel of oil back to Megatron. “Whatever,” he muttered. “I don’t want this. And break time is over.”</p><p>He turned on his heel and began silently looking through his blueprints once again, mumbling quietly to himself. Megatron stared, brow furrowed, wondering what he’d done wrong.</p><p>That had been the most genuine compliment he’d given in years.</p>
<hr/><p>“So, Bulky,” Mixmaster said, his face twisted into a grimace as he hoisted a large collection of pistons into place. “Whatcha been chatting with Megatron about, huh?”</p><p>Bulkhead blinked, looking up from his schematics and nearly dropping them in surprise. “What?”</p><p>“We all seen it, ya know,” Scrapper said, tossing a wire toward Mixmaster. “Megatron’s always comin’ up to ya, askin’ questions, that sorta stuff.”</p><p>“I’m building his space bridge,” Bulkhead said, frowning. “He asks me about progress.”</p><p>“Not that!” Mixmaster snickered. “Whenever we go gettin’ oil, he never comes with us anymore. He’s always grabbin’ a barrel and bringin’ it to you. We hear ya talkin’ about education and Autobots and stuff like that.”</p><p>“Give us the juicy details!” Scrapper said.</p><p>Bulkhead <em>did</em> drop his schematics after that, quickly leaning down to pick them up. “It’s nothing weird,” he said defensively. “He just wants to know why I’m so good at space bridge stuff, I guess.”</p><p>“Fair question,” Mixmaster said. “You don’t look like the type to be into all that nonsense.”</p><p>“I like it,” Bulkhead said with a frown. “I’m good at it. It’s nice to be good at something.”</p><p>“And it’s nice to have a piece like Megatron tellin’ ya how good ya are at somethin’, too,” Scrapper said snidely.</p><p>Bulkhead dropped his schematics once again, stammering uselessly for a few agonizingly long seconds, praying that the heat in his faceplates wasn’t visible. “He’s just using me,” he said quickly, leaning down to once again gather his blueprints. “It’s not—he’s—”</p><p>“Flirtin’,” Mixmaster interrupted.</p><p>“<em>No!</em>” Bulkhead said, shocked and appalled at the thrumming of his spark. “No, no. Nothing like that, really. He’s just—that’s how he is, he sort of has that way about him.”</p><p>“Alright, then, sure, whatever,” Scrapper said loftily. “Then tell us what ya say to him. What’s he ask about?”</p><p>Bulkhead swallowed, looking down at his schematics, watching as the letters and lines swam across the page. “Well,” he said slowly. “He asks about why I signed up to be in the Elite Guard. And he asks why I didn’t go for an actual education or anything.”</p><p>“<em>And?</em>” Mixmaster pressed.</p><p>“<em>And</em> nothing!” Bulkhead insisted. “He tells me that he thinks I’m smart and that I’m doing a good job. But he’s not nice or anything! He said I’m ‘smarter than I look’ or something like that.”</p><p>“Aw, Bulky,” Scrapper sighed. “He’s complimentin’ you!”</p><p>“Really,” Bulkhead said disbelievingly. “Saying that I look stupid doesn’t seem like a compliment to me.”</p><p>“He says you’re smart and talented. Sounds like compliments to me,” Mixmaster added.</p><p>“And <em>ugly,</em> which is <em>not</em> a compliment.”</p><p>“He didn’t say ugly!” Scrapper said. “Ya just took him by surprise is all! Nothin’ wrong with that! And ya can’t tell us it doesn’t fluster ya, because you’ve gone droppin’ your blueprints every time we say his name.”</p><p>Bulkhead lowered his optics, burying his face in the blueprints. “Fine,” he muttered. “It’s nice not to be insulted every single day. And to be able to work on space bridges. But have you forgotten that I’m here against my will?”</p><p>“Ya don’t seem to be tryin’ to break out,” Mixmaster said. “If Megatron treats ya better than the Autobots, why stay with ‘em? He values ya.”</p><p>“He likes what I represent,” Bulkhead grumbled. “Not me.”</p><p>“We’re a bunch of workin’ class too, and ya don’t see him chattin’ us up and bringin’ us oil so we can have private little chats,” Scrapper said snidely. </p><p>“It’s not <em>like</em> that!” Bulkhead insisted. “He was a miner! He relates to me, that’s all.”</p><p>“He was a miner?” Mixmaster said.</p><p>“That’s a tidbit he never told us,” Scrapper said with a smirk. “Sharin’ personal stories between the two of ya, are ya?”</p><p>“You two are ridiculous,” Bulkhead grumbled. “He’s a manipulative warlord. I’m not falling for any of his nonsense. I just want to build this space bridge and go home, okay? Nothing else.”</p><p>“Back to fixin’ stuff for a team that doesn’t respect ya,” Mixmaster said. “Sounds great.”</p><p>“I bet Megatron’d let ya be in his inner circle,” Scrapper said. “Buildin’ the best space bridges in the galaxy and whatnot.”</p><p>“He’s got the connections for it,” Mixmaster agreed.</p><p>Bulkhead stayed quiet, pretending to read his schematics. </p><p>“You agree, Bulky?” Scrapper pressed.</p><p>Bulkhead lifted his schematics higher, trying to hide behind them. “The tachyon transmitter needs to be up higher,” he mumbled. “At least fifty meters off the—”</p><p>“He agrees,” Mixmaster interrupted snidely. “Face it, Bulkhead, ya like how nice he is to ya. And ya should! He values ya. Bet ya don’t get a lot of that in your dingy little Autobot hideout.”</p><p>“—off the ground,” Bulkhead continued weakly. “But no higher than one hundred meters.”</p><p>“Just think about it, wouldja?” Mixmaster said. “Somewhere else, though. You’re blushin’ so hard that the whole room is heatin’ up.”</p><p>Bulkhead closed his optics, trying not to groan aloud at his own idiocy. “Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t ask me about him anymore. It’s not what you think it is.”</p><p>The Constructicons snickered. </p><p>“Sure it ain’t,” Mixmaster said. “We’re takin’ five for now. Have fun on your date.”</p><p>Bulkhead didn’t dare look up from his schematics as the Constructicons left the room, desperate to hide his flushed cheeks from their prying optics. He sat in silence for a few long moments, his spark flipping wildly when he heard heavy footfalls enter the room.</p><p>“My, it is quite warm in here,” Megatron said, a barrel of oil gently tapping on Bulkhead’s shoulder. “Hard at work, I presume.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Bulkhead squeaked, lowering his schematics slowly as he took the oil from Megatron’s servo. “Hard at work.”</p>
<hr/><p>It had worked.</p><p>The space bridge had worked. </p><p>Megatron had stared at it in awe for barely a moment before Starscream and his insufferable clones had showed up and ruined everything. He’d smiled at Bulkhead with pride, surprising the Autobot into smiling back at him despite the terror and disappointment on Sumdac’s face. </p><p>“You should join us, Autobot,” Megatron said, optics narrowed with pride. “Cybertron will do well under my command. And I will ensure that you are given the training and education that you so rightfully deserve.”</p><p>Bulkhead’s optics were wide, staring into the space bridge, blue reflecting against blue. “You know I can’t do that,” he said shortly. “The Autobots will be here any minute to stop you.”</p><p>“Do not concern yourself with them,” Megatron said. “Your talents are not in the military. You should not be forced into a position that is not right for you.”</p><p>Bulkhead turned his helm to meet Megatron’s gaze, frowning slightly, a trace of uncertainty in his optics. “I—I care about the Autobots,” he said. “I can’t just—”</p><p>“That is precisely what they would want you to say,” Megatron said. “Be loyal to yourself. Just once. I believe you will enjoy how it feels. Let me <em>show</em> you how wonderful it can be, to be liberated, to do whatever your spark desires. I will help you realize the dreams that you didn’t even know you had.”</p><p>Bulkhead looked back to the space bridge, his mouth hanging slightly open, his expression clearly torn. “I—I can’t. I’m an Autobot. They’re my friends.”</p><p>“Your teammates are your friends,” Megatron said, reaching a servo toward Bulkhead hopefully. “The Autobots, as a whole, are not. Be selfish. Be <em>you.</em>”</p><p>Bulkhead’s optics moved toward Megatron’s servo, then drifted up to his face. “I—” he started, his jaw visibly clenching. “I—have a question, first.”</p><p>“Of course,” Megatron said, moving his servo closer to Bulkhead’s. “Anything.”</p><p>Bulkhead’s gaze snapped toward Megatron’s hand, optics widening slightly. “Um… do you—”</p><p>And then, the world exploded.</p><p>The next few minutes were a blur of Seekers and Autobots and stasis cuffs and malfunctions. Before Megatron knew it, he was floating among the stars, glaring at Starscream’s disembodied head, pure malice ripping through him like lightning.</p><p>“This is all your fault,” Starscream spat, the Allspark fragment in his helm sparking and flickering. “You and that <em>ridiculous</em> space bridge. How hard is it to properly calibrate one?!”</p><p>“I would explain, but I doubt you would comprehend a word of it,” Megatron hissed.</p><p>“Useless scrap heap,” Starscream snarled. “As soon as we get out of here, I am going to <em>rip your helm—</em>what are you smirking at?”</p><p>Megatron reached up to touch his face, surprised to find that he was, in fact, smiling. Just slightly, of course, but with his face inches from Starscream’s, it was impossible to hide.</p><p>“No reason that concerns you,” Megatron said simply. “Now stay quiet, or I will kick your helm as hard as I can and send you soaring beyond reach.”</p><p>Starscream huffed, gritting his dentae. Megatron smirked wider.</p><p>It would be a long time before Megatron saw Bulkhead again—of that, he was certain. But his processor was reeling with thoughts, ideas, inspiration, all of which centered around that unusual, fascinating mech.</p><p>Cybertronians like Bulkhead—they were the ones Megatron had started this uprising for. Individuality and talent had always been overlooked by the Autobots, and Megatron knew how bitter that could make a mech. He was, after all, the shining example of the regime gone wrong. But for the first time in millions of stellar cycles, Megatron felt a sense of renewed purpose, a fiery passion in his spark, one that hadn’t burned since his own days in the mines of Cybertron. </p><p>Megatron would find a way to get to Cybertron. And he would find a way to win the war, once and for all, and put an end to the drafts, the rules, the reign of Ultra Magnus. He would not stop until the dreams of the underdogs were realized, until Bulkhead was enrolled in classes he loved, until Cybertron was a place of passion instead of functionism.</p><p>For Cybertron. And for Bulkhead.</p>
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